There doesn’t seem to be any way around it: the flow of my writing work over last month and this month has soared and plunged, rocketed and fizzled. No rhyme nor reason to one day compared to the next. Note that I’m talking about deskwork writing, but the same phenomenon, albeit less extreme, has taken place in my general life. Moments of raw joy. Evenings when I need a drink.
For July, I commit to finding peace at the desk. An undulating, not serrated, work performance chart.